


Careful What You Ask For

by Rori_Teagan



Series: Careful [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Bottom Draco, Bottom Draco Fest, Consensual Infidelity, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-15
Updated: 2013-04-15
Packaged: 2017-12-08 14:33:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/762432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rori_Teagan/pseuds/Rori_Teagan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-Hogwarts, When Astoria Malfoy asks Harry Potter to sleep with her husband...it's a request he can't refuse. Adaptation of "Favors" by Julianne Homokay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Careful What You Ask For

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Christina as part of the bottom_draco Adaptations fest. 
> 
> Disclaimer: Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.
> 
> Warnings: AU, Slytherin!Harry, open relationship, implied het sex, sex for hire…sort of, potential for mpreg

When something major happened like a war, a birth, a death…people liked to talk about second chances and ‘what if. ’ Could of beens and maybe perhaps. Not that it did a bloody bit of good, but the thought flickered through the brain regardless. What if Voldemort had never existed, what if his parents hadn’t died, what if he’d been adopted by a family that had loved him nevermind blood bonds – maybe had even just liked him a little bit, what if the morning Hagrid had taken him to go get his school  things he hadn’t stopped for robes first and never met the arrogant little blond boy with the softest pink lips Harry had ever seen (he imagined, not like he’s ever had a chance at first hand experiencing their lushness for himself), what if he hadn’t realized he was the freak Dudley had always said he was in more ways than one, what if he hadn’t allowed the new stirrings of his first crush to influence every decision he’d make for the next seven years of his life beginning with allowing the sorting hat to place him in Slytherin.

 

He didn’t know exactly at what point in his long history of pivotal life changing opportunities could have possibly brought him to now nor what he could have done to prevent it.

 

And he wasn’t sure how you could tell when the moment was large enough to pause and really consider before making a decision whilst you’re in the middle of it.

 

But he kind of thought that this moment right here, sitting outside Hogsmeade with Astoria Malfoy nee Greengrass, might be kind of pivotal. And also? Perhaps befriending a lonely little first year while he was a third year wasn’t his best move…but he could be forgiven, nearly half of that year he’d thought he was losing his mind and developing auditory hallucinations.

 

Harry blinked at the girl -  no matter what the wizarding world says barely seventeen does not qualify anyone as an adult, in Harry’s opinion. He didn’t wonder if he’d heard wrong; if that was the case and his mind was making up something like this he needed to go check himself into St. Mungo’s. Instead, he calmly folded his napkin and pushed his butternut fizz back, clearly they’ve had too much of the stuff.

 

“I’m not sleeping with your husband, Astoria, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

 

“No, not currently,” she replied.

 

“Not ever. I don’t know who you’ve been speaking to but trust me the boys dorm wasn’t nearly as sordid as all that. By the time we’d figured out what our dicks were for we were all being kicked out. Besides, he’s happily heterosexual, you should know, you married the sod.”

 

Astoria didn’t so much as tut, nothing as crass as that for a Greengrass – it was going to take some getting used to referring to her as a Malfoy. The expression she gave him was one he learned to revile in third year – very quickly after they’d formally met, really: Poor little Harry, it said, always missing the plot.

 

He was saved from her patronizing for a moment longer when the server returned with the check and instead was obliged to suffer their routine song and dance over who will be paying the bill this time, complete with snide little comments about his lack of employment which Astoria cheerfully ‘forgot’ hadn’t applied in the last month.

 

“I’ll get it, Astoria,” Harry said as the paper was slid out of his grip firmly.

 

“Please, Harry, save your change for next month’s rent, I know you’re not working again.” On anyone else Harry would mistake the slight little pout as concern. And maybe deep down …deep deep down there was some of that but it’d have to climb its way out of the bowels of her pretention long enough to have a chance and Harry honestly didn’t think Astoria has felt an emotion besides smug in too long to recognize the distinction.

 

“I am though,” Harry protested, “I told you I’ve been working at Starbucks for nearly a month now.”

 

A wrinkle of distaste curled Astoria’s upper lip. “Low level Muggle work. I don’t know how you stand it.”

 

Harry sighed to himself audibly. They fought a whole war and still there was this casual disregard for anything un-magical. Muggles don’t happen to be his favorite people on most days, no, but then there were a fair bit of wizards he’d rather cut out the gene pool as well. That was just the way it went, wizard or Muggle, people were people and more often than not people were shit.

 

“I happen to find it fulfilling,” Harry lied. He’d grown to hate the smell of coffee beans.

 

“Well when you’re finished slumming it with the –“ in a surprising show of restraint and consideration for the automatic grimace that came to Harry’s face, Astoria checked whatever she was going to say and replaced it with “—you should really give my offer consideration, Harry.”

 

“Jesus, Astoria, you're serious?”

 

“Of course. Why won’t you do it?”

 

Harry blinked again. Why won’t he—Her face is stone determination and frankly she looked like she was a hair’s breadth away from offended. He was the one being propositioned like a cheap …okay, no, a really rather expensive whore, but whore all the same, and _she_ was getting offended? Not much in his relationship with Astoria Greengrass now Malfoy has made sense since the day he found her sniffling in the broken down girl’s loo hiding from Pansy Parkinson’s nasty rumors but this…this was insanity.

 

“Anyway,” she continued blithely as if gobsmacked was just his way to coyly accept her idea as something even remotely in the realm of possibilities. “You need a job. I know that miniscule inheritance your parents left you can’t last forever.”

 

“I told you, I have a job.”

 

“Yes, one that’s far beneath you.”

 

“Beneath me? And this wouldn’t be?”

 

“You wouldn’t be working for Muggles, for one. Besides which, the dark has a slimming effect you’ve needed the past few months.”  Astoria leveled a critical eye at his slightly rounded midsection pointedly, her own perfectly trim figure poured into a skintight fashionable miniskirt and blouse a direct contrast to his casual frump. Harry found something about ending a war with his death and rebirth nurtured the stress eater in him, he was working on it, but he was nothing nearly as fat as Astoria liked to pretend.  

 

“Nice. No, I never wonder why you’re my best friend, of course not.”

 

“If you really were my best friend,” Astoria replied, “you’d do this for me.”

 

“Do you get how crazy this sounds? Is he really all that bad in bed?”

 

“Of course not. Draco and I wouldn’t have married at all if he’d been bad in bed.”

 

“Then what? Because I lived in the dorms with him, he doesn’t have a small dick.”

 

“It wouldn’t matter besides, it’s what they do with it, not the size.”

 

Harry smirked, folding his napkin a second, then third time. “That is a myth.”

 

There went that moue of condescension again. “Poor innocent Harry, no it’s really not. See this is why my offer would benefit us both. You need a lover that can teach you the finer things of passion, not just some insecure bloke with a big dick that knows one place to stick it.”

 

“On creative nights I can find two.”

 

She made a pass at amusement but it was clear she was still much too focused on getting her way to find the humor in his statement. Pushy bint.

 

“Alright, then,” Harry played along morbidly curious, “if it’s not his dick, what is it? I didn’t think he liked blokes.”

 

“Draco likes _sex_. With a cock or without, up an arse or down a quim, it doesn’t matter, he just loves sex.”

 

Harry blinked again. Now there was that visual stuck right there.

 

“I’m just so tired. There’s only so much shagging that can be had in one day…we’ve tried threesomes and foursomes and lingerie and varying positions but the more that’s added the more he likes it and the more he wants. It’s gotten to the point where I’m lubing myself up before walking in the door because it’s not even a question whether he’ll be in the mood and it’s so much work—“

 

“That’s the price you pay, I hear --”

 

“I want to eat that fried crap you keep gobbling down until there’s three of you.”

 

“For love--”

 

“I want a night out of drunken frivolity that doesn’t end with another lost pair of knickers, or bodily fluids in places I’d formerly believed were unreachable.”

 

“For companionship--”

 

“I want to not care how I look, like you.’

 

“For a bloody gorgeous husband who adores you.”

 

“I’d just like my body to myself for a while is all I’m saying.”

 

“So can you not…you know…with him?” Harry trailed off delicately, forgetting for a moment that Astoria might be an insulting snob but she’s hardly delicate.

 

“Come? Every time. Every bloody fucking time; most nights multiple.”

 

“Then I don’t get it, sounds like a dream.”

 

“Then _I_ don’t understand _your problem_ ,” she countered, leaning in over crumpet crumbs and the remains of that unicorn piss she called decaffeinated tea. “If it’s such a dream take my offer.”

 

“Thinking it’s great to have someone to love me and shag me every day is hardly the same as wanting to be shagged by _your_ husband. I rather think you should appreciate how lucky you are.”

 

A flush spread up Astoria’s face and down her throat; she went still and silent for a beat then released a long breath. “Yes, so lucky, everything is so perfect so bloody fucking wonderful. Having a husband that is never satisfied no matter how many times, or how many positions, or how hard you make him come, is so fantastic. He’s about to find someone who can satisfy him, Harry, which at this point I welcome except, you know, the world we live in shagging won’t be enough; there’ll be _scandal_ and bribes and public humiliation and then I’ll have to worry about some tart trying to steal him away or ‘forgetting’ their birth control and ending up with his heir, his love, and his inheritance. So, yes, I want you to be the one, someone I can trust, and you need a job, a better job, so why don’t you goddam do this one goddam thing for me, goddammit?”

 

Harry allowed the long pause while she visibly got herself back under control. She was like most Slytherins he’d met…if he was honest, himself as well; they could bluster and emote all over the place but don’t dare acknowledge it on penalty of something nasty in retribution.  

 

Finally: “And anyway,” she continued more calmly, “don’t try and pretend you don’t wet yourself nights thinking about him. You’ve had the biggest crush on him for eons, you’re practically creaming yourself now thinking about just touching him.”

 

Or at least his cock was a bit stiffer than it was accustomed to being during their weekly luncheons. Harry tilted his head a little in acknowledgement. It didn’t hurt him to admit he’d had a crush on Draco Malfoy; everyone already knew. It was practically the running joke of Hogwarts, before things got too serious to care about things like unrequited schoolboy crushes.  

 

“I’m not saying yes.”

 

Astoria smiled triumphantly, prettily, so sure she didn’t bother to hide it. “But,” she purred.

 

“But, I’m not saying I won’t. How would this work?”

 

“We can set a schedule, have it a regular thing maybe one day, the whole day, once a week to start and then modify as needed.”

 

“What if he’s not in the mood?”

 

“He’s always in the mood.”

 

“What if _I'm_ not in the mood.”

 

Astoria hesitated, a quizzical look on her face that was almost comical if not for how it meant she thought of him as that much of a whore. “Well, it’d be your job, right? Being in the mood is part of it.”

 

“Nice job couching that in terms that _don’t_  imply I’m a prostitute, thanks for that,” Harry said sarcastically.

 

Astoria arched, ever so slightly, one perfectly sculpted eyebrow. “Harry, you’re not saying ‘yes’ but you’re not saying ‘no,’ I think we can discard the pretentions for a moment.”

 

“Fair enough. Positions?”

 

“We can start with the standard three: missionary, riding, and arse in the air. From there you and he can work out what you’re comfortable with.”

 

“What if he doesn’t…I’m not saying yes, I’m just…What if he doesn’t. We weren’t even _civil_ during school, and at best we’ve managed a cordial hello since then.”

 

“Think of how passionate the fucking will be then.”

 

“Or awkward.”

 

Astoria waves it away with a tiny flick of her hand, continuing on blithely. “In addition to salary we’ll fully reimburse you: time, accoutrements, hazard pay should you decide to get a bit more adventurous, birth control if you need it.”

 

Harry rose his own eyebrow, he’d never come out and said but he’d assumed it was understood that he’d skipped the carrier gene his generation. His mother was Muggleborn, after all, and Dad, while descending from one of the oldest wizarding families in the UK, hadn’t been able to procreate in that manner. Too much intermixing, he suspected.

 

Astoria read his answer on his face before he had a chance to respond. “No? Just as well, makes things easier. Draco’s a carrier but considering his proclivities there’s no need to worry.”

 

“I thought you said he liked sex in all forms.”

 

“Well, yes, but you can’t hardly expect a man of his stature to bend over for _you_.”

 

Harry bristled. “What is that supposed to mean exactly.”

 

“Harry, do be serious, you often sell yourself short but let’s be honest, without my offer there’d be no way you could pull a man of Draco’s caliber. You’re just in different leagues. Relationships, true lasting relationships, don’t form outside one’s league. It’s one of the reasons I chose you and one of the reasons you are going to say yes, he won’t be tempted to stray for anything besides sex in its truest carnal form. Without me you’d never have that chance with him you’ve been wanting since Hogwarts, and without you I’d never feel safe that the person my husband’s fucking won’t fuck _me_ in the end.”

 

“Oh sod off, Astoria. That’s a bunch of bollocks and you know it. Firstly, Draco Malfoy isn’t any bit better than I am in station or caliber or otherwise. Second, if the man is all that unsatisfied with your apparently frequent and vigorous sex life perhaps what he’s been needing  _is_ a good solid rodgering up his arse. Third, I’ve known you for nearly a decade, I can believe you would insult me to my face and imply I am neither attractive nor worthy enough to have someone like your husband ever want me for more than just a shag and then turn around and think I’ll accept your offer of money to provide that shag…but it says really negative things about our friendship regardless and really makes me wonder if I want to continue associating with someone who thinks of me as a viable option when a prostitute isn’t handy.”

 

That said, he placed his now four times folded napkin on the table and stood to leave. Best friend or not, there was a reason why they only met once a week.

 

Lately, this is how it went with them.

 

Not at first, at first she was a terrified little eleven year old whose own sister refused to speak with her, whose housemates made her life miserable because she was timid and shy and couldn’t deflect banter gracefully and thought all jokes were aimed at humiliating her. Back then Harry was her savior, she clung to him, she loved him, she adored him. All this casual cruelty didn’t start until the war got good and on its way. Sometimes he wondered if she blamed him. She should get in line; far more people with far better reasons had hated his guts a lot longer than her.

 

Astoria stood when he did. She reached out and touched his wrist gently, something close to an apology in her eyes. “Think about it at least. It’s just my marriage, not worth ruining a decade long friendship.”

 

The near apology wasn’t enough to soothe away the bitter sarcasm in her words.

 

He pulled away, hard enough that she stumbled just a little. “See you next week, Astoria.”

 

* * *

Harry thought about it the whole weekend. There was nothing else he could think of.

 

When Monday arrived he found himself ringing in sick and flooing to Astoria’s.

* * *

Draco Malfoy considered himself a pretty simple bloke. He enjoyed elegance and the opportunities wealth afforded him, yes, but he detested opulence. Hosting the Dark Lord as a houseguest that last year in school cured him of a desire for dramatics, adventure, or anything remotely in the category of risk. He appreciated boredom. He did everything in his power to avoid complications. So how he ended up with Astoria Greengrass as his wife, the reigning queen of all things hysteria, could only be blamed on Mother.

 

‘It’s time to put away your childish distractions and consider your future,’ she said. ‘This family has had its name tarnished enough for the last few generations, it’s time to bring us back into respectability,’ she said. And then finally, the steel sword through his resistance, ‘it’s what your father would have wanted.’

 

When he was little those words meant everything, doing what would make his father proud was all he lived for, he was utterly and completely his father’s son and knew his only purpose in life was to become the next Lucius Malfoy - for a better man didn’t exist. Then came that horrible period during his adolescence when Draco had realized just how far in his family was on the wrong side of things, all because of his father’s misspent youth and greed for power, and just like that everything he’d respected about his father, everything he’d thought was true his entire life…gone, with one sibilant hiss of the Dark Lord’s tongue.

 

His father had raised him on the ideals of family pride, dignity, nobility, house loyalty, the purity of magic and blood --then carelessly threw it all in the rubbish bin and set it ablaze for the good favor of a madman. At fifteen, Draco hadn’t thought he could ever forgive him for that. For failing to be the man Draco had always known he could. Four years later he wasn’t quite back to the beginning…but maybe it was better, he could see the whole man and still be proud. If only it hadn’t taken the end of a war and the man’s death to bring him there. Talking to a portrait just wasn’t the same.

 

“Draco, do pay attention.” Astoria snapped, interrupting his thoughts.

 

She didn’t like anything that took his attention away from her.

 

It was getting tiresome; even Pansy hadn’t been this bad.

 

“If there was something worth paying attention to, I might,” he replied.

 

Her face remained impassive but the flash in her eyes betrayed her irritation. Good. This whole conversation was annoying. Of course he wanted sex all the time, he was a nineteen year old male, he was just entering his sexual prime. That hardly required calling in reinforcements to…sate his desires. What kind of wife sanctioned extramarital affairs anyway? They’d not even come up on their first anniversary.

 

“I’ve found someone---”

 

“Good for you. You shag the mystery person then.”

 

Her mouth twisted. The portraits had enough decorum to leave when she started snapping but she needed to learn more about discretion. There was a time when a martial spat could have been held against the house of Malfoy.

 

“I’m not a recalcitrant child, Astoria, that needs pacifying to keep in line. If you don’t want to bed me I can find my own playmates; or I’ll actually be an adult, apparently the only one in this marriage, and honor our matrimonial vows of monogamy. How about that? How about we trying doing that for a change?”

 

“Don’t be so puritanical. You know you’ve enjoyed everything we’ve tried.”

 

“Enjoying it and thinking you’ve married a bit of a slag aren’t two mutually exclusive lines of thought.” It was out before he could pull it back. See, this was why he liked boredom. Boredom didn’t end with calling your wife a whore to her face.

 

Reflex caught her hand by the wrist before her palm connected with his face. “I apologize, that was uncalled for.”

 

She tugged away and he re-caught her with both hands.

 

“What I so inelegantly have been trying to say is this: when I imagined myself married I never included other sexual partners in the imagining.”

 

“Marriage is about keeping your partner happy. The way we’re going neither of us will be happy for long. I’m trying to save us, Draco.”

 

“There’s nothing to save us from, Astoria.”

 

“No? More the fool me. It wasn’t you with eyes more for the best man than the bride. It wasn’t you who wallowed through school because a certain boy didn’t give you the time of day. It wasn’t you who admitted you only befriended me because ‘Potter’ had first. Not you then. Alright, sorry, must’ve mistaken you for that other Draco Malfoy.”

 

“And you who admitted you only began to date me as revenge against Pansy. Neither of us are innocent. Besides, just because I look doesn’t mean I want to t-“

 

She yanked harder but he didn’t let go.

 

“I can live without your lies, Draco. I know who you are; I know what I am to you. I’ve never forgotten that it was Narcissa that got me here. So you’re going to do this one thing for me, you’re going to satiate your curiosity, you’re going to go and have your fun and fill yourself up on him, and while you’re there you’re going to remember that _I_ am the one that’s allowing it. Harry is here because of me, if anyone’s the slag it’s him, selling himself off to the highest bidder. He’ll shag you, anyway you like as often as you like it, and after he’ll collect his cheque. So remember that during your little fantasies. All you’ll ever be to him is his employer, and all he’ll ever be to you is your whore.”

 

Draco looked at her and wondered had he ever been this spoiled. And if he had who did he need to apologise to. “He’s your friend.”

 

“And you’re my husband, my family. I’ll fight for us anyway I have to.” Astoria pulled out of his grip hard. “Go, have your bit on the side but remember that’s all he is.”

 

She marched out and Draco was left alone in his father’s study to ponder the irony of his life. Or maybe irony wasn’t the best word: the sheer incomprehensibility.

 

He found Potter in the master bedroom, perched precariously on the edge of his and Astoria’s bed, head down, back ramrod straight.    

 

She was right, his wife. The other man was a bit of an oddity, a Slytherin that was too Gryffindor for his own good, throwing himself headfirst into harm without thought for the consequences.

 

When they were eleven Draco had wanted to be his friend, desperately, but every attempt at connection had been refuted. Then at the cusp of thirteen that desperate want for friendship had shifted…or perhaps a better word would be ‘widened’ to include an awareness of Potter as a sheer presence.  The entirety of Hogwarts stood against him with suspicion over that stupid heir of Slytherin rumor, even the headmaster had looked at him long and found him wanting, but Potter kept his head high and plodded on through.

 

He was strong, he was proud, Draco thought it made him beautiful. But an offer to study together was met with silence, large emerald eyes blinking owlishly at him until Draco had been forced to retract his offer to save his own pride. Invitations to Hogsmeade weekends met with stuttering and incoherent mumbles before Potter had run off abruptly. Congratulations on becoming the youngest seeker in a century, despite Professor Snape’s lack of support, met with blushing and more silence. The last really burned, Draco had wanted that position for himself, had imagined it his entire childhood, had fantasied about playing professionally after school.

 

Instead he was regulated to backup and due to Harry’s uncanny ability to play through injuries – in fact more often than not no one knew he’d been injured to begin with – he hardly had a chance to play a single game. But Draco had pushed all that aside and congratulated his housemate regardless…to be rebuffed after all that? It was the final feather that broke the Hippogriffs back. At fourteen he’d cultivated a nice resentment towards Potter and gave his all in the effort to make the other boy’s life miserable. Then at fifteen everything changed again as his situation at home made school boy resentments insignificant. They hadn’t seen much of each other in the progressing years, and if not for his friendship with Astoria they might not have seen each other at all. Potter worked some Muggle job now, he heard, and had in every significant functional sense cut himself off from the world of magic.

 

“I’ve never apologised for the Bubotuber pus prank, I guess first off I should do that.”

 

Potter didn’t startle, he looked up and offered the smallest of smiles. Draco didn’t think Potter had ever smiled at him before.

 

“The one that left me covered in boils for a week?” Potter asked.

 

“It wouldn’t have been that long if you hadn’t been so stubborn and just went to Madame Pomfrey.”

 

Potter flushed. “I didn’t want you to get in trouble over it.”

 

“Why would you care? Or rather, why wouldn’t you want me to? I deserved it.”

 

Pause. The other man looked down and Draco followed his gaze to see fingers nervously twiddling against the Muggle blue of his denims. “I had a bit of a crush on you back then,” Potter said to his kneecaps.

 

“You hated everything about me.”

 

This Potter – Harry looked up at again, there was red still staining his neck. “I was shy.”

 

“You weren’t shy with anyone. You weren’t particularly popular but that’s only because you were too brash and to like you was to risk the ire of Professor Snape.”

 

“I was shy with you. In the Muggle world …having a crush on another boy was…frowned upon, I guess you can say. I hadn’t expected to, I didn’t know what to do.”

 

“Well that’s stupid. You can’t help who you like.”

 

Harry shrugged the smallest bit. “The wizarding world hates Muggles, the Muggles hate everyone else.”

 

What a depressing thought.

 

“So it was me, truly?”

 

Harry flushed again, though the original hadn’t quite gone away, it turned his cheeks a rather pretty shade of rose. “For a very long time. I thought you knew.”

 

“Not at all. I thought you hated me. I must say, it’s a bit of a surprise, refreshing, validating…but a surprise. And what about now? How do you feel about me now?”

 

As they spoke Draco felt himself gravitating closer, Harry leaned forward as it happened, like two magnetized poles carefully lining up.

 

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

 

“Yes, but you’re being paid for this.”

 

“I’m not.  I told Astoria I would do it but only as a favor not as employment. I’ve never accepted money for sex in my life and I’m not near desperate enough to start now.”

 

Harry rose, head up, shoulders back. And here it was, the confidence of the boy who’d gone through Hogwarts alone, who, still a teen, faced a madman and whispered ‘neither can live while the other survives’ then turned his own wand at his throat and purposefully, intentionally, achieved Avada Kedavra. It killed him, gave him another scar, took an entire team of Muggles to bring him back with something they called ekeltripcity and harnassed through two paddles that thumped down on his chest. But it also rid the world of a madman.

 

“But she’s asked for this,” Harry said. “And frankly I want it.”

 

They collided together, chest to chest. Harry felt so much more solid than he looked in just his Muggle kit. Strong arms wrapped around Draco’s waist, hot sweet breath warmed his face.

 

“So if you’re up for it…”

 

Draco laughed shakily. He readjusted one of Harry’s hands to slide lower down his belly until it met resistance in the form of Draco’s straining cock. “You have no idea how up for it I am,” Draco breathed.

 

Harry caressed him, tentative fingertips outlining the head of Draco’s penis, fingers fluttering teasingly across his robe covered shaft. “Then what are we still doing talking?”

 

Finally, finally his mouth descended and their lips met. It was tentative at first, all the careful question and answer they’d been playing at for the last few years. Just lips touching chastely, and then slowly a tongue peeked out, Draco’s, sliding one careful centimeter at a time between Harry’s own lips, seeking out Harry’s own tongue. Harry released a small moan and they met in the middle wetly, both mouths open, tongues gliding against each other, against their teeth, lips pressing and sucking, and it was as if a floodgate had been opened. They stayed there trading air and time in each other’s mouths, hands touching anything they could.

 

Draco broke away first, breathing hard. “Rules?”

 

Harry pressed forward again, laid a wet kiss on Draco’s check, jaw, throat. “Let’s just do what feels right, how about that?”

 

Draco allowed Harry to pay the same attention to the other side before pulling away again. “I’m not on birth control.”

 

“Astoria assured me that wouldn’t be necessary. You’d never want me anywhere that you’d need birth control.”

 

“Astoria knows fuck-all about what I want. Unless you don’t want to be there, which might be a problem and a significant let down, I want your cock as far inside me as you can get it.”

 

Harry breathed in deep. His pupils were blown with lust. “Then we’re going to need a prophylactic. I don’t know any spells. I’ve only been with two Muggles before and both times I used johnnies.”  

 

Draco didn’t have the foggiest what that was but he assumed it must be a Muggle contraceptive.

 

“Astoria keeps a potion in the armoire. I don’t trust spells; if you don’t know what you’re doing they fail.”

 

“What about sexually transmitted infections?”

 

“I take a monthly preventative.”

 

“Okay. Alright.”

 

Nothing else to add, Draco went quickly to the armoire before in a second he wouldn’t care, yanked open the draws. There a gossamer little pink bottle of purplish fluid waited. He drank half of it, awful tasting stuff, and found that his hands were shaking when he tried to put the stopper back on.

 

He turned back around to find Harry standing awkwardly in the nude. A blush stained his skin from ear-tips to the gentle swell of his groin where his aroused prick lay heavily against a thigh.  

 

“Christ,” Draco swore. “You’re fucking gorgeous.”

 

“There’s a little more of me than there used to be,” Harry warned shyly. His arms gradually fell away from across his chest, revealing two hard pink nipples standing at attention. Draco’s mouth watered just looking at them.

 

“Gorgeous,” Draco insisted.

 

Draco went to him, discarding his kit as he went. When he’d cleared the distance, their mouths went back to work. Draco had never snogged anyone and felt like his very soul was being eaten alive in the most perfect way possible but there it was.

 

As they kissed, Harry walked him towards the bed, the one Draco shared with Astoria but would never again be able to think of as anything but where he and Harry came together for the first time.

 

They fell backwards together, Harry landing on top. His glasses fell off in the process and behind them Draco was swept into the intensity of their verdant green.

 

“I’ve wanted you since before I knew what that meant,” Harry whispered hoarsely.

 

Draco swallowed. “Yeah? And now that you have me, what are you going to do?”

 

Harry grinned wickedly. “Everything you’ve ever dreamed.”

 

Harry’s hand went back to Draco’s cock as if it had found a new favorite toy and had no intention of letting go. Draco felt liquid release from his body from both front and back as shivers ran through him and his toes curled, he wasn’t complaining.

 

 Harry pumped twice from base to tip while pressing kisses into Draco’s shoulder and collar bone. “I’m going to eat you out before I fuck you, if that’s alright.”

 

Draco didn’t whine, he’s not a whiner. He…breathed strongly. “E-eat me?”

 

The hand – who knew Harry had such gorgeous hands – made its way past Draco’s bollocks to cup as much of Draco’s arse in its palm as it could. Harry squeezed, so there was no doubting just exactly what he meant.  

 

“Oh yes, oh Merlin yes,” Draco groaned despite himself. Then, “Wait, I’m wet back there.”

 

An exploratory finger traced where Draco indicated and came back wet and sticky from Draco’s self-lubricant. One of the joys of being a carrier, twice the fluid to clean up later. Harry caught Draco’s eyes and deliberately stuck his finger in his mouth, sucking the digit clean.

 

“You’re perfect,” he pronounced. Draco might have pulsed another blurt of slick involuntarily, but really there was so much wet right now how could he tell the difference.

 

Harry eased Draco over onto his stomach and began, no preamble, to pay the same attention he had to Draco’s neck to his spine.  By now Draco’s cock was a throbbing steel bar between his stomach and the mattress, so it was with some relief that Harry lifted his hips and spread his thighs moving his cock to dangle in the empty air between bed and hips.

 

Draco’s head thumped back to the mattress as Harry’s mouth met his arsehole dead on. The next few minutes Draco would forever deny he spent screaming into his sheets. He hadn’t thought it was possible to orgasm from anal stimulation alone, but Harry was busy licking him out, both hands occupied with holding Draco up and open by his arsecheeks, and Draco was busy holding on white-knuckled to his sheets to keep himself grounded, whining in the back of his throat as everything threatened to fly apart, and there was his cock pumping out ejaculate happy as it pleased all across said sheets with not a hand nor mouth in sight…so there went that theory. 

 

Harry kept thrusting his tongue down to the core of him through the liquid aftershocks of Draco’s orgasm. He didn’t stop until both Draco’s legs were shaking, knees sliding in the mess he’d made, thighs wet with his own slick and Harry’s spit both. Harry pulled out, licking all around his perineum as he did, and Draco shuddered so hard his teeth chattered.

 

With the same gentle care, Draco was returned to his back, too tired to protest landing in the wet spot…Well at this point they’d need a new bed to avoid it.

 

“Ready for the main event?”

 

Draco’s eyes fluttered, his tongue felt dry and heavy in his mouth. He might’ve answered something like “Uhhh” in response. Harry got the picture when Draco spread his thighs invitingly and tilted his pelvis up. His cock was already hardening still wet and tacky from his last orgasm.

 

A hand at the base of his spine helped him tilt up and then no hesitation Harry’s thick cock was sliding into place. Grinding deep down into Draco with one smooth thrust and coming to rest on the lust swollen bundle of nerves that made his prostate.

 

Draco’s eyes rolled up in his head as the biggest wave of pleasure yet seized every muscle in his body.

 

And then Harry was shagging him, really shagging him, punching little breaths of air out of him until Draco’s moans lost all semblance of words and turned thick and wheezing. Sweat and come and slick covered them both, turned the air hot and salty until they could taste themselves on every breath. His thighs held Harry by the hips.

 

Harry reached down between them and rolled Draco’s bollocks in his hand. And then their mouths were together again, and Draco could taste all the places he’d been and could imagine all the places he would be one day, and both of them were moaning and Harry was hiccupping gasps, and their tongues weren’t so much fondling as kind of laying in each other’s mouths just pressed together and Oh God if he really thought about it, it was kind of disgusting with all the spit and drool but right now was the best thing he’d ever done and he’d forever deny this too but as they both reached for the pinnacle of their pleasure there might have even been a few tears sliding through all the other liquids and –

 

“Oh Oh OH OH Fuuuuck, Harry!”

 

“I’m there,I’m there, I’m therei’mtherei’mthere.”  

 

And then for one amazing, agonizing moment, Draco knew what it was to feel so much pleasure with another person that you could just let go and drift off and never feel another thing again without a complaint.

 

When they both could breathe again, as much tangled up in each other as they were the sheets, Harry cuddled (there was really no other word for it) Draco to his side while simultaneously attempting to lay his head on Draco’s shoulder. It was surprisingly comforting. 

 

“How long,” Draco asked when it became too much to not ask. “How long will you continue doing her this favor?”

 

“As long as you’ll have me.”

 

“She might regret it in the end.”

 

“She might do.”

 

“And you? Will you regret it?”   

 

“I’ve wanted you for a very long time, Draco,” Harry said slowly, softly. “It seemed like the whole world was disappointed in me for being sorted into Slytherin. Hagrid wouldn’t talk to me, my own house thought I was an oddity, and then when Voldemort came back the entire world thought I was either going to turn to him or I was lying about the whole thing and had offed Diggory myself. Some even thought both, I imagine. Astoria has been my only friend for …my entire life, really. It’s hard to let that go. But I will…I will because she let go first, she chose you first, she chose her own happiness. Because I don’t think she’s really liked _me_ in a very long time. Because I’ve loved you since I was eleven years old, still do, and if I have the remotest possibility of you loving me back I’ll take it. I guess that’s the Slytherin in me.”

 

“You have the remotest possibility. Not so remote actually.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

Draco rolled on top and buried his head in the space between Harry’s shoulder and neck, whispered “I love you too.” It was foolish to be afraid when Harry had said it first but it was the first time he’d ever said it to a nonrelative. It was the first time he really meant it like this.

 

Harry held him back, held him tight. “Then that’s Alright.”

 

~Fin~


End file.
